


A Year Misplaced

by hidley



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Detachment, Lost Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidley/pseuds/hidley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season Five. </p><p>['Stop calling me that.'<br/>'Stop calling you what?'<br/>'Sir.']</p><p>Simmons has lost track of when this place felt real. If it ever even did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year Misplaced

'Stop calling me that.'

'Stop calling you what?'

' _Sir_.'

'Why?' Simmons asked, frowning. 'That's what you are to me.'

'No,' Grif stated, rubbing halfheartedly at his already gleaming rifle. 'No. That is what I am to those idiots out there. I am not that to you.'

He stood and walked over to his own bunk, leaning the gun against it carefully.

Simmons watched as he fell onto his mattress, sighing as he closed his eyes and rested his hands on his stomach.

The air was warm, and they'd been sat alone for hours, nothing to do but clean their guns and talk about nothing. Since they'd been reassigned here there was very little else they found themselves doing. It had been like stepping into the life of an NPC. They left Blood Gulch, and then their days were nothing. No word from Sarge, or Blue Team. Somewhere along the line Grif got promoted and they lost track of the days, and now they were here.

Like someone had just fast forwarded a year of their lives, just to skip to this one interaction. Like the rest didn't even happen.

Simmons didn't dwell on the fact that he wasn't completely sure that it did.

He watched Grif sleep, his hands falling to his side and his mouth slacking in a soft snore.

Where were they? Why were they here?

The events of twelve months ago seemed more real, more immediate than whatever they were going here. When did they even leave?

Simmons sat, watching Grif as he pulled himself up again three hours later, raising an eyebrow at him sceptically before watching him walk over to where he sat on the edge of his own bed. He stared up as Grif stared down, both of them frowning, confused and calm all at the same time.

He felt his mouth move only after he'd said the words;

'What are you to me?'

Grif didn't give him an answer. They just stayed, silent, with their eyes fixed on each other, half listening to the repeated soundtrack of the people outside. The base they were supposed to be a part of.

No one would come and get them if they just decided to stay here forever.

He was barely aware of Grif lying down beside him, barely aware of the fact he was lain down too. But as an arm carefully wound its way around his waist, the weight of Grif's body beside his was enough to help him fall asleep.

It was the most real thing he'd felt in twelve months.


End file.
